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Good-Night Poetry 



[BEDSIDE POETRY] 



A PARENT'S ASSISTANT IN MORAL 
DISCIPLINE 



COMPILED ^BY 

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WENDELL P/GARRISON 



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BOSTON, U.S.A. 

GINN & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 

1891 



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Copyright, 1886, by 

WENDELL PHILLIPS GARRISON, 

Under the Title, " Bedside Poetry. 



Copyright, 1890, by 
WENDELL PHILLIPS GARRISON. 



LUCY MoKIM GARRISON 

AND 

JOHN RICHARD DENNETT: 
TWO SPIRITS. 



PREFACE. 

Bo what we will and can, the moral discipline of 
our children of tenest falls short alike of our prayers 
and of our endeavor. All those fences with which 
nature and our institutions have girt them round — 
parents and schoolmasters, 

"Pulpits and Sundays, sorrow dogging sin, 
Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes," — 

afford no guaranty of protection from evil thoughts 
or evil ways. Nor will it ever be otherwise. T& 
ground the youth in principle, demands not only all 
the inherited virtue of the remotest generations of 
man, but all the appliances which the highest en- 
lightenment of the present day can devise. 

The dislike of children for sermonizing ; the im- 
perfect opportunities for it at home ; the want of 
tact or of the power of expression on the part of 
parents themselves — these and many other causes 
combine to make us shift the burden on the secular 
or the Sabbath school, or to encourage a blind de- 
pendence on the force of our own example. The aid 

vii 



Vlll PREFACE. 

of fiction, it is true, has long been eagerly sought by 
Anglo-Saxon parents ; and what Miss JEdgeworth, 
Miss Martineau, and a long line of successors in the 
writing of moral tales have done, cannot be overes- 
timated. Poetry, in turn, — witness Ann and Jane 
Taylor and still another host of authors and com- 
pilers, — has been impressed into the service; but 
just here, it has seemed to me, was room for the collec- 
tion whose specific uses will now be explained. 

Those mothers, and, let me add, those fathers, who 
have never resigned to servants the privilege of put- 
ting their children to bed, Mow the peculiar value of 
that hour for confirming filial and parental affection, 
and for conveying reproof to ears never so attentive 
or resistless. Sweeter or more impressive relations 
than those thus established cannot be hoped for in this 
life. Doubtless in hundreds of happy homes it has 
occurred to the parent to make a practice of closing 
the infant day at the bedside with some well-chosen 
reading, as a prelude to peaceful slumbers. To such, 
and to all who would do likewise, I offer a volume 
which will answer this general object, or which can 
be made directly applicable to the day's conduct. A 
glance at what I have called the Key to the Morali- 
ties will make this latter function clear. 



PREFACE. IX 

Certainly the range of the pieces here grouped 
together will not suffice for all the defects of disposi- 
tion or behavior which will arise for correction. N~o 
collection could ; and this one has been further re- 
stricted by a desire to admit only poetry of a rather 
high order, the remembrance of which will be a joy 
forever, and a potent factor in the formation not 
merely of character but of literary taste. There is 
no particular in which our schools and our text- 
books so fall below the mark as in inculcating, early 
and constantly, that preference for the noble in liter- 
ature which is one of the surest safeguards against 
vulgar temptations and associations. The theme 
invites a long essay — but not in this place. 

Patient repetition is the secret of all successful 
training ; and the Frenchman who advised persist- 
ence in calumny on the ground that something would 
stick to the object of it, has pointed the way to 
the employment of similar tactics in a better cause. 
The parent will soon enough find out that my selec- 
tions are here and there above the level of the child's 
comprehension, even if he be well along in his teens. 
But, frequently conned or recited, even these portions 
" will stick " till comprehension overtakes the idea. 
Meanwhile an opportunity is afforded, by explaining 



X PREFACE. 

such obscurities as they occur, to enlarge the chiWs 
notions along with his vocabulary. Finally, a very 
rational penalty for petty wrong-doing lies in the 
compulsory memorizing of good models, whether in 
prose or verse ; and this discipline can be enforced 
beyond the bedside hour. 

The poems here brought together are not always 
copied entire. The excuse for this is that natural 
selection by which our "familiar quotations 77 are 
derived without prejudice to what we leave unquoted, 
or by which the minister deals out a hymn to choir 
and congregation, omitting this, that and the other 
stanza, as suits his purpose. That the living poets 
themselves will, under the circumstances, object to 
this sort of condensation and abstraction, I have 
little fear. 

My thanks are due to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin 

& Co., Boston, for their courteous permission to use 

the copyright poems of Emerson, Holmes, Longfellow, 

Lowell, and Whittier which grace this collection; 

and to Mrs. Kemble for her obliging revision of her 

Sonnets. 

W. P. G. 

Orange, N. J., 1886. 



KEY TO THE MORALITIES 

IMAGED IN THE FOLLOWING SELECTIONS, ACCORDING TO THEIR 
RESPECTIVE NUMBERS. 



Accident of birth, 32, 36, 37, 
38, 39. 

Adam a democratic ancestor, 
38. 

Advice disregarded, 3. 

All needed by each one, 31. 

Amhition cherished, 33. 

Ambition shunned, 70. 

Animal affection, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. 

Army that saves, and that de- 
stroys, 20. 

Art is long, 46. 

Beauty coincident with duty, 

51. 
Beauty everywhere in nature, 

74. 
Beauty in small as well as great, 

44. 
Beauty in utility, 34. 
Beauty its own excuse for being, 

71. 
Benefits forgot, 26. 
Benefits remembered, 6, 14. 
Be thyself, 63. 

Birth needs no excuses, 39, 53. 
Blood nobly shed, 77. 
Books too much pored over, 69. 
Borrow no trouble, 56. 

Charity, 22, 23, 24, 25, 34. 
Charity soils not white hands, 

40. 
Child the father of the man, 73. 



Choose well, 35. 
Circumstances, 32, 36, 37. 
Common sense to submit to the 

inevitable, 67. 
Compassion, 22, 23, 24, 25, 34. 
Compromise with sin, 78. 
Conscience of the better thing, 

65. 
Conscience the strong retreat, 

58. 
Constancy, 61. 
Contentment, 70. 
Countrymen are all mankind, 

39, 81. 
Courage to bear sorrow, 40. 
Cowards fear ills to come, 56. 
Cowards tell lies, 62. 

Day of small things, 28, 29, 30, 

78. 
Dead yet not absent, 50. 
Death a good morning, 48. 
Death better than slavery, 77, 

83. 
Deathless name, 33. 
Death the common portion, 49. 
Death the good angel, 43. 
Defects happily made known by 

an enemy, 64. 
Descent from Adam, 38. 
Destroy not, but rather save, 20. 
Do noble things, not dream 

them, 41. 
Duty coincident with beauty, 51. 



Xll 



KEY TO THE MORALITIES. 



Duty leads to glory, 53. 
Duty new with new occasion,78. 
Duty whispers Thou must, 39, 
83. 

Each and all, 31. 

Earthly greatness mocked by 

Time, 17. 
Enemies may instruct us, 64. 

Family circle not broken by 

death, 50. 
Fatherland, 79, 80, 81. 
Fear no evil, 56. 
Fidelity, 5, 7, 75. 
Filial affection, 11. 
Fitness of things, 1. 
Forbearance, 71. 
Forgiveness of harsh reproof, 

64. 
Forgiveness of injury, 13, 15. 
Fortune disregarded, 59. 
Freedom is to remember those 

in bonds, 55. 
Freedom's fight, 77, 83, 83. 
Freedom to worship God, 79. 
Friend remembered not, 26. 
Friendship broken and never 

repaired, 27. 
Friendship in adversity, 5. 
Friends of the good great man, 

43. 
Future not to be trusted, 46. 
Future to be met with courage, 

35. 

Glory of the cause, 77. 
Glory's way the path of duty, 

52. 
God loves him who loves his 

fellow-man, 16. 
God near to man, 82. 
Good for evil, 13, 15. 
Goodness in daylight and in 

dark, 61. 
Goodness its own reward, 43. 
Good rather than clever, 41. 



Goose killed that laid the golden 

egg, 9. 
Gratitude superior to offence, 

14. 
Gratitude superior to the threat 

of death, 13. 
Grave of the good knight, 42. 
Greed overreaching itself, 9. 

Half a loaf better than no bread, 
9. 

Handsome is as handsome does, 
34. 

Heal rather than slay, 20. 

Heart that watches and re- 
ceives, 69. 

Help succors the faithful, 75. 

Heritage of rich and poor, 40. 

Higher law, 12. 

Home influence, 36. 

Honest man depicted, 61. 

Honest man the king of men, 39. 

Hospitality, 13. 

Humble instruments of good, 
29, 78. 

Humility, 2. 

Ignorance consigns to obscurity, 

37. 
Imprudence, 3. 

Independence upon fortune, 59. 
Independent mind, 39. 
Independent will, 29. 
Ingratitude, 26. 
Integrity put to the test, 10. 
Irreverence for the dreams of 

youth, 60. 

Joy and woe commingled in life, 
33. 

Kind hearts are more than coro- 
nets, 38. 
Kindness reciprocated, 6. 

Labor and wait, 46. 
Labor brings rest, 34. 



KEY TO THE MORALITIES. 



Xlll 



Lie not, 61, 62, 63. 

Life beautiful in being dutiful, 

51. 
Life is earnest, 46. 
Life may be beautiful without 

length of days, 44. 
Life may be given in many 

ways, 53. 
Life prolonged may be lasting, 

not living, 45. 
Life's good-bye, 48. 
Light not from the east only, 

76. 
Lord of one's self if not of lands, 

40, 58, 59. 
Love of man, love of God, 16. 
Loyalty to Truth, 53. 

Magnanimity, 11, 13, 13, 15. 

Manhood bold in singleness, 39. 

Manhood's solid earth, 53. 

Mankind one in spirit, 78. 

Man master of his fate, 40, 58, 
59. 

Man 's a man for all that, 39. 

Man was made for joy and woe, 
33. 

Marry in haste, repent at lei- 
sure, 3. 

Mercy, 33, 35. 

Mighty fallen, 17. 

Mother longed for, 11. 

Mother's wish realized, 33. 

Multitude persuading to evil, 
10. 

Music to the listening soul, 65. 

Nameless, to leave a deathless 
name, 33. 

Native land forsaken for liber- 
ty's sake, 79, 80. 

Natural piety, 69, 73. 

Nature a better teacher than 
books, 69. 

Necessity laid upon all, 67. 

New Year's Eve, 68. 

Nobility in being good, 38. 

6 



Nobleness enkindles nobleness, 

13. 
Noble things to be done, and 

not dreamt, 41. 
Nothing is fair or good alone, 

31. 

One good turn deserves another, 

6. 
Open as the day, 63. 
Opportunity denied to talent, 

37. 
Outcast compassionated, 34. 

Parental compassion, 31. 

Passionate words in vain repent- 
ed of, 37. 

Past outgrown, 66. 

Past to bury its dead, 46. 

Patience, A, 46. 

Patience learned of being poor, 
40. 

Patriotism of the soul, 81. 

Peace among the nations, 19, 
68. 

Perfection in little, 44. 

Perseverance in the good fight, 
54, 76. 

Physician nobler than the war- 
rior, 30. 

Pity, 33, 33, 34, 35. 

Poor but honest, 39. 

Poor man's inheritance, 40. 

Posterity remembered in self- 
sacrifice, 46, 77, 83. 

Posterity warned by the exam- 
ple of its ancestors, 80. 

Pride of descent, 38. 

Pride that scowls on wretched- 
ness, 33. 

Public service, 53. 

Quarrel between friends, 37. 

Rank is but the guinea's stamp, 

39. 
Reciprocal kindness, 6. 



XIV 



KEY TO THE MORALITIES. 



Religious freedom, 79. 
Reproof to be welcomed, 64. 
Republic triumphant, 84. 
Rest comes forth from labor, 

34. 
Rich man's inheritance, 40. 
Right onward, 75, 78, Ci. 
Right with the minority, 55. 

Save that which was lost, 20. 
Scorn not the humble, 30. 
Self-confidence, 29. 
Self-conquest, 13. 
Self-importance humbled, 2. 
Selfishness replaced by public 

spirit, 52. 
Self-poise, 53. 
Self-restraint, 72. 
Sensuous temptation overcome, 

54. 
Sin for the many, sin for each, 

10. 
Slander destroying friendship, 

27. 
Slaves who fear to speak, 55. 
Small beginnings, 28, 29. 
Spiritual growth, 66. 
Stepping stones of our dead 

selves to higher things, 60, 66. 
Still, small voice, 65. 
Strength fed from within, 53. 
Studious overmuch, 69. 
Submission to necessity, 67. 
Sympathy, 21, 23, 25, 34. 



Talents differ, 1. 

Talents hidden by ignorance and 
poverty, 37. 

Time is fleeting, 46. 

Time makes ancient good un- 
couth, 78. 

Toil makes rest fragrant, 40. 

Trials faced and not avoided, 61. 

Truthforever on the scaffold,78. 

Truth his utmost skill, 58. 

Truth is so, 47. 

Truth rather than triumph to be 
sought after, 60. 

Truth's loyal service, 53. 

Vanity, all is vanity, 17. 
Vices made the ladder to virtue, 
60. 

Warrior inferior to the physi- 
cian, 20. 

War's discords, 19. 

War's horrors to no purpose, 18. 

Will, 29, 57. 

Wise is brave, 56. 

Wise is good, 14. 

Work and despair not, 35. 

World made up of all sorts of 
things, 1. 

Worst man's mate in my own 
heart, 36. 

Youth's dreams to be rever- 
enced, 60. 



ALPHA. 

O'er wayward childhood wouldst thou hold firm rule, 
And sun thee in the light of happy faces; 
Love, Hope, and Patience, these must be thy graces, 
And in thine own heart let them first keep school. 
For as old Atlas on his broad neck places 
Heaven's starry globe, and there sustains it, so 
Do these upbear the little world below 
Of Education, — Patience, Love, and Hope. 
Methinks, I see them grouped, in seemly show, 
The straightened arms upraised, the palms aslope, 
And robes that, touching as adown they flow, 
Distinctly blend, like snow embossed in snow. 
O part them never! If Hope prostrate lie, 

Love too will sink and die. 
But Love is subtle, and doth proof derive 
From her own life that Hope is yet alive; 
And bending o'er, with soul-transfusing eyes 
And the soft murmurs of the mother dove, 
Woos back the fleeting spirit and half -supplies ; — 
Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to Love 
Yet haply there will come a weary day 
When, overtasked at length, 
Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way. 
Then, with a statue's smile, a statue's strength, 
Stands the mute sister, Patience, nothing loth, 
And, both supporting, does the work of both. 

Coleridge (Love, Hope, and Patience in Education). 



Pazienza, che tanto sostieni 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 



The mountain and the squirrel 
Had a quarrel ; 
And the former called the latter " Little Prig. >; 
Bun replied, 

"You are doubtless very big; 
But all so_*ts of things and weatner 
Must be taken in together 
To make up a year 
And a sphere. 
And I think it no disgrace 
To occupy my- place. 
If Pm not so large as you, 
You are not so small as I, 
And not half so spry. 
Ill not deny you make 
A very pretty squirrel track; 
Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; 
If I cannot carry forests on my back, 
Neither can you crack a nut." 

Emerson (Fable). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 



A poet's cat, sedate and grave 
As poet well could wish to nave, 
Was much addicted to inquire 
For nooks to which she might retire, 
And where, secure as mouse in chink, 
She might repose, or sit and think. 
I know not where she caught the trick- 

Nature perhaps herself had cast her 
In such a mould philosophique, 

Or else she learned it of her master. 
Sometimes ascending, debonair, 
An apple-tree or lofty pear, 
Lodged with convenience in the fork, 
She watched the gardener at his work; 
Sometimes her ease and solace sought 
In an old empty watering-pot; 
There, wanting nothing save a fan, 
To seem some nymph in her sedan, 
Apparelled in exactest sort, 
And ready to be borne to court. 

But love of change, it seems, has place 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 

Not only in our wiser race; 
Cats also feel, as well as we, 
That passion's force, and so did she. 
Her climbing, she began to find, 
Exposed her too much to the wind, 
And the old utensil of tin 
Was cold and comfortless within: 
She therefore wished, instead of those, 
Some place of more serene repose, 
Where neither cold might come, nor air 
Too rudely wanton with her hair; 
And sought it, in the likeliest mode, 
Within her masters snug abode. 

A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined 
With linen of the softest kind, 
With such as merchants introduce 
From India, for the ladies' use, — 
A drawer impending o 7 er the rest, 
Half open in the topmost chest, 
Of depth enough, and none to spare, 
Invited her to slumber there. 
Puss, with delight beyond expression, 
Surveyed the scene and took possession. 
Recumbent at her ease, ere long, 
And lulled by her own humdrum song, 
1* 



6 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

She left the cares of life behind, 

And slept as she would sleep her last, 
When in came, housewifely inclined, 

The chambermaid, and shut it fast; 
By no malignity impelled, 
But all unconscious whom it held. 

Awakened by the shock, cried Puss: 
"Was ever cat attended thus? 
The open drawer was left, I see, 
Merely to prove a nest for me; 
For soon as I was well composed, 
Then came the maid, and it was closed. 
How smooth these 'kerchiefs, and how sweet ! 
Oh, what a delicate retreat! 
I will resign myself to rest 
Till Sol, declining in the west, 
Shall call to supper, when, no doubt, 
Susan will come and let me out." 

The evening came, the sun descended, 
And Puss remained still unattended. 
The night rolled tardily away 
(With her, indeed, 'twas never day), 
The sprightly morn her course renewed, 
The evening gray again ensued, 
And Puss came into mind no more 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 7 

Than if entombed the day before. 

With hunger pinched, and pinched for room, 

She now presaged approaching doom. 

Nor slept a single wink, or purred, 

Conscious of jeopardy incurred. 

That night, by chance, the poet watching 
Heard an inexplicable scratching ; 
His noble heart went pit-a-pat, 
And to himself he said— " What's that?" 
He drew the curtain at his side, 
And forth he peeped, but nothing spied ; 
Yet, by his ear directed, guessed 
Something imprisoned in the chest, 
And, doubtful what, with prudent care 
Resolved it should continue there. 
At length a voice which well he knew, 
A long and melancholy mew, 
Saluting his poetic ears, 
Consoled him and dispelled his fears : 
He left his bed, he trod the floor, 
He 'gan in haste the drawers explore, 
The lowest first, and without stop 
The rest in order to the top. 
For 'tis a truth well known to most, 
That whatsoever thing is lost, 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 

We seek it, ere it come to light, 

In every cranny but the right. 

Forth skipped the cat, not now replete 

As erst with airy self-conceit, 

Nor in her own fond apprehension 

A theme for all the world's attention, 

But modest, sober, cured of all 

Her notions hyperbolical, 

And wishing for a place of rest 

Anything rather than a chest. 

Then stepped the poet into bed, 

With this reflection in his head: 

Beware of too sublime a sense 
Of your own worth and consequence : 
The man who dreams himself so great, 
And his importance of such weight, 
That all around, in all that's done, 
Must move and act for him alone, 
Will learn in school of tribulation 
The folly of his expectation. 

Cowper (The Retired Cat). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 



IT chanced, then, on a winter's day, 
But warm and bright and calm as May, 
The birds, conceiving a design 
To forestall sweet St. Valentine, 
In many an orchard, copse, and grove 
Assembled on affairs of love, 
And, with much twitter and much chatter, 
Began to agitate the matter. 
At length a Bullfinch, who could boast 
More years and wisdom than the most, 
Entreated, opening wide his beak, 
A moment's liberty to speak; 
And, silence publicly enjoined, 
Delivered briefly thus his mind : 

" My friends ! be cautious how ye treat 
The subject upon which we meet; 
I fear we shall have winter yet." 

A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, 
With golden wing and satin poll, 
A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried 
What marriage means, thus pert replied: 



10 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

" Methinks the gentleman/' quoth she, 
" Opposite in the apple-tree, 
By his good will would keep us single 
Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle, 
Or (which is likelier to befall) 
Till death exterminate us all. 
I marry without more ado; 
My dear Dick Redcap, what say you ? v 

Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, 
Turning short round, strutting, and sidling, 
Attested, glad, his approbation 
Of an immediate conjugation. 
Their sentiments so well expressed 
Influenced mightily the rest: 
All paired, and each pair built a nest. 

But, though the birds were thus in haste, 
The leaves came on not quite so fast; 
And Destiny, that sometimes bears 
An aspect stern on man's affairs, 
Not altogether smiled on theirs. 
The wind, of late breathed gently forth, 
Now shifted east, and east by north. 
Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, 
Could shelter them from rain or snow : 
Stepping into their nests, they paddled, 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 11 

Themselves were chilled, their eggs were addled. 

Soon every father bird and mother 

Grew quarrelsome and pecked each other, 

Parted without the least regret 

Except that they had ever met, 

And learned in future to be wiser 

Than to neglect a good adviser. 

Misses ! the tale that I relate 

This lesson seems to carry — 
Choose not alone a proper mate. 

But proper time to marrv 

Cowper ('Fairing Time Anticipated), 



12 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



The deep affections of the breast 
That Heaven to living things imparts, 
Are not exclusively possessed 
By human hearts. 

A parrot, from the Spanish Main. 

Full young, ana early caged, came o'er 
With bright wings to the bleak domain 

Of Mulla's shore. 

To spicy groves where he had won 
His plumage of resplendent hue, 

His native fruits, and skies, and sun, 
He bade adieu. 

For these he changed the smoke of turf, 
A heathery land and misty sky, 

And turned on rocks and raging surf 
His golden eye. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. K 

But, petted, in our climate cold 
He lived and chattered many a day; 

Until, with age, from green and gold 
His wings grew gray. 

At last, when, blind and seeming dumb, 
He scolded, laughed, and spoke no more. 

A Spanish stranger chanced to come 
To Mulla's shore; 

He hailed the bird in Spanish speech, 
The bird in Spanish speech replied, 

Flapped round his cage with joyous screech. 
Dropped down, and died. 

Campbell (The Parrot). 



14 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 



The greenhouse is my summer seat; 
My shrubs, displaced from that retreat, 
Enjoyed the open air; 
Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song 
Had been their mutual solace long, 
Lived happy prisoners there. 

They sang as blithe as finches sing 
That flutter loose on golden wing, 

And frolic where they list; 
Strangers to liberty, ? tis true, 
But that delight they never knew, 

And therefore never missed. 



But Nature works in every breast, 
With force not easily suppressed; 

And Dick felt some desires 
That, after many an effort vain, 
Instructed him at length to gain 

A pass between his wires. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 15 

The open windows seemed to invite 
The freeman to a farewell flight; 

Bnt Tom was still confined ; 
And Dick, although his way was clear, 
Was mnch too generons and sincere 

To leave his friend behind. 

So, settling on his cage, by play, 

And chirp, and kiss, he seemed to say : 

Yon must not live alone; — 
Nor wonld he qnit that chosen stand 
Till I, with slow and cautions hand, 

Returned him to his own. 

O ye, who never taste the joys 
Of friendship, satisfied with noise. 

Fandango, ball, and ront! 
Blush when I tell yon how a bird 
A prison with a friend preferred 

To liberty without. 

I Cowper (The Faithful Bird). 



16 BEDSIDE POETRY 



6 

androcles from his injured lord, in dread 
.XjL Of instant death, to Libya's desert fled. 
Tired with his toilsome flight, and parched with 

heat, 
He spied at length a cavern's cool retreat, 
But scarce had given to rest his weary frame 
When, hugest of his kind, a lion came: 
He roared approaching, but the savage din 
To plaintive murmurs changed, arrived within ; 
And, with expressive looks, his lifted paw 
Presenting, aid implored from whom he saw. 
The fugitive, through terror at a stand, 
Dared not awhile afford his trembling hand, 
But, bolder grown, at length inherent found 
A pointed thorn, and drew it from the wound. 
The cure was wrought ; he wiped the sanious blood, 
And firm and free from pain the lion stood. 
Again he seeks the wilds, and day by day 
Regales his inmate with the parted prey; 
Nor he disdains the dole, though unprepared, 
Spread on the ground, and with a lion shared. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 17 

But thus to live — still lost — sequestered still — 
Scarce seemed his lord's revenge a heavier ill. 
Home ! native home ! O might he but repair ! 
He must, he will, though death attends him there. 
He goes, and, doomed to perish, on the sands 
Of the full theatre unpitied stands : 
When lo ! the self-same lion from his cage 
Flies to devour him, famished into rage. 
He flies, but viewing in his purposed prey 
The man, his healer, pauses on his way, 
And, softened by remembrance into sweet 
And kind composure, crouches at his feet. 

Mute with astonishment the assembly gaze: 
But why, ye Eomans ? Whence your mute 

amaze ? 
All this is natural : Nature bade him rend 
An enemy ; she bids him spare a friend. 

Cowper (Reciprocal Kindness). 



18 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



A barking sound the Shepherd hears, 
A cry as of a dog or fox ; 
He halts — and searches with his eyes 
Among the scattered rocks; 
And now at distance can discern 
A stirring in a brake of fern ; 
And instantly a dog is seen, 
Glancing through that covert green. 

The Dog is not of mountain breed; 

Its motions, too, are wild arid shy; 

With something, as the Shepherd thinks 

Unusual in its cry ; 

Nor is there any one in sight 

All round, in hollow or on height ; 

Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear; 

What is the Creature doing here ? 

It was a cove, a huge recess, 

That keeps till June December's snow ; 

A lofty precipice in front, 

A silent tarn below ! 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 19 

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, 
Remote from public road or dwelling, 
Pathway, or cultivated land j 
From trace of human foot or hand. 

There sometimes doth a leaping fish 
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer ; 
The crags repeat the raven's croak, 
In symphony austere ; 
Thither the rainbow comes — the cloud — 
And mists that spread the flying shroud- 
And sunbeams j and the sounding blast 
That, if it could, would hurry past; 
But that enormous barrier binds it fast. 

Not free from boding thoughts, a while 
The Shepherd stood; then makes his way 
Towards the Dog, o'er rocks and stones, 
As quickly as he may; 
Nor far had gone before he found 
A human skeleton on the ground. 
The appalled discoverer, with a sigh, 
Looks round to learn the history. 

From those abrupt and perilous rocks 
The Man had fallen, that place of fear! 



20 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

At length upon the Shepherd's mind 

It breaks, and all is clear: 

He instantly recalled the name, 

And who he was, and whence he came; 

Remembered, too, the very day 

On which the traveller passed this way. 

Bat hear a wonder, for whose sake 

This lamentable tale I tell! 

A lasting monument of words 

This wonder merits well. 

The Dog, which still was hovering nigh, 

Repeating the same timid cry, 

This Dog had been, through three months' space, 

A dweller in that savage place. 

Yes, proof was plain that, since the day 
When this ill-fated traveller died, 
The Dog had watched about the spot, 
Or by his Master's side: 
How nourished here through such long time 
He knows who gave that love sublime, 
And gave that strength of feeling, great 
Above all human estimate. 

Wordsworth (Fidelity), 






BEDSIDE POETRY. 21 



8 



Lie here, without a record of thy worth, 
A Beneath a covering of the common earth ! 
It is not from unwillingness to praise, 
Or want of love, that here no Stone we raise ; 
More thou deserv'st, but this Man gives to Man, 
Brother to Brother — this is all we can. 
Yet they to whom thy virtues made thee dear 
Shall find thee through all changes of the year : 
This Oak points out thy grave; the silent Tree 
Will gladly stand a monument of thee. 
I grieved for thee, and wished thy end were 
past, 
And willingly have laid thee here at last: 
For thou hadst lived till everything that cheers, 
In thee had yielded to the weight of years ; 
Extreme old age had wasted thee away, 
And left thee but a glimmering of the day; 
Thy ears were deaf, and feeble were thy knees, — 
I saw thee stagger in the summer breeze, 
Too weak to stand against its sportive breath. 
And ready for the gentlest stroke of death. 



22 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 



It came, and we were glad ; yet tears were shed : 
Both Man and Woman wept when Thou wert 

dead — 
Not only for a thousand thoughts that were, 
Old household thoughts, in which thou hadst thy 

share ; 
But for some precious boons vouchsafed to thee, 
Found scarcely anywhere in like degree! 
For Love, that comes to all — the holy sense, 
Best gift of God — in thee was most intense; 
A chain of heart, a feeling of the mind, 
A tender sympathy, which did thee bind 
Not only to us Men, but to thy Kind: 
Yea, for thy Fellow-brutes in thee we saw 
The soul of Love, Love's intellectual law. 
Hence, if we wept, it was not done in shame: 
Our tears from reason and from passion came; 
And therefore shalt thou be an honored name! 

Wordsworth (Tribute to the Memory of a Dog). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 23 



A peasant to his lord paid yearly court, 
Presenting pippins, of so rich a sort 
That he, displeased to have a part alone, 
Removed the tree, that all might be his own. 
The tree, too old to travel, though before 
So fruitful, withered, and would yield no more. 
The squire, perceiving all his labor void, 
Cursed his own pains, so foolishly employed. 
And "Oh," he cried, "that I had lived content 
With tribute, small indeed, but kindly meant! 
My avarice has expensive proved to me, — 
Has cost me both my pippins and my tree." 
Cowper (The Cottager and Ms Landlord). 



24 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



10 

A youngster at school, more sedate than the 
rest, 
Had once his integrity put to the test : 
His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob. 
And asked him to go and assist in the job. 

He was shocked, sir, like you, and answered, 

"Oh, no! 
What ! rob our good neighbor ! I pray you 

don't go; 
Besides, the man's poor, his orchard's his bread; 
Then think of his children, for they must be fed." 

" You speak very fine, and you look very grave, 
But apples we want, and apples we'll have; 
If you will go with us, you shall have a share, 
If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear." 

They spoke, and Tom pondered — "I see they 

will go; 
Poor man ! what a pity to injure him so ! 






BEDSIDE POETRY. 25 

Poor man ! I would save him his fruit if I could, 
But staying behind will do him no good. 

"If the matter depended alone upon me, 

His apples might hang till they dropped from the 

tree; 
But since they will take them, I think I'll go too, — 
He will lose none by me, though I get a few." 

His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease, 
And went with his comrades the apples to seize ; 
He blamed and protested, but joined in the plan : 
He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man. 
Cowper (Pity for Poor Africans). 



26 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



11 

I love contemplating — apart 
From all his homicidal glory — 
The traits that soften to our heart 
Napoleon's story. 

'Twas when his banners at Boulogne 
Armed in our island every freeman. 

His navy chanced to capture one 
Poor British seaman. 

They suffered him — I know not how — 
Unprisoned on the shore to roam; 

And aye was bent his longing brow 
On England's home. 

At last, when care had banished sleep, 
He saw one morning — dreaming — doting- 

An empty hogshead from the deep 
Come shoreward floating. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 27 

He hid it in a cave, and wrought 
The livelong day laborious; lurking 

Until he launched a tiny boat 
By mighty working. 

Heaven help us! 'twas a thing beyond 
Description wretched; such a wherry 

Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond, 
Or crossed a ferry. 

For ploughing in the salt-sea field 
It would have made the boldest shudder; 

Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled, 
No sail — no rudder. 

From neighboring woods he interlaced 
His sorry skiff with wattled willows; 

And thus equipped he would have passed 
The foaming billows — 

But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, 

His little Argo sorely jeering; 
Till tidings of him chanced to reach 

Napoleon's hearing. 



28 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

With folded arms Napoleon stood, 
Serene alike in peace and danger; 

And, in his wonted attitude, 
Addressed the stranger: — 

" Rash man, that wonldst yon Channel pass 
On twigs and staves so rudely fashioned! 

Thy heart with some sweet British lass 
Must be impassioned." 

"I have no sweetheart/ 7 said the lad; 

"But — absent long from one another — 
Great was the longing that I had 

To see my mother." 

"And so thou shalt," Napoleon said; 

"YeVe both my favor fairly won; 
A noble mother must have bred 

So brave a son." 

He gave the tar a piece of gold, 
And, with a flag of truce, commanded 

He should be shipped to England 01d 7 
And safely landed. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 29 

Our sailor oft could scantily shift 
To find a dinner, plain and hearty; 

But never changed the coin and gift 
Of Bonaparte. 

Campbell (Napoleon and the British Sailor J. 



30 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



12 

Jaffar, the Barmecide, the good Vizier, 
The poor man's hope, the friend without a 
peer, 
Jaffar was dead, slain by a doom unjust; 
And guilty Haroun, sullen with mistrust 
Of what the good and e'en the bad might say, 
Ordained that no man living from that day 
Should dare to speak his name on pain of death. — 
All Araby and Persia held their breath. 

All but the brave Mondeer. — He, proud to show 
How far for love a grateful soul could go, 
And facing death for very scorn and grief 
(For his great heart wanted a great relief), 
Stood forth in Bagdad, daily, in the square 
Where once had stood a happy house ; and there 
Harangued the tremblers at the scimetar 
On all they owed to the divine Jaffar. 

" Bring me this man," the caliph cried. The man 
Was brought — was gazed upon. The mutes began 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 31 

To bind his arms. "Welcome, brave cords!" 
cried he 5 

"From bonds far worse Jaffar delivered me; 

From wants, from shames, from loveless house- 
hold fears ; 

Made a man's eyes friends with delicious tears ; 

Restored me — loved me — pat me on a par 

With his great self. How can I pay Jaffar?" 

Haroun, who felt that on a soul like this 
The mightiest vengeance could but fall amiss, 
Now deigned to smile, as one great lord of fate 
Might smile upon another half as great. 
He said, "Let worth grow frenzied if it will; 
The caliph's judgment shall be master still. 
G-o : and since gifts thus move thee, take this gem, 
The richest in the Tartar's diadem, 
And hold the giver as thou deem est fit." 

" Gifts ! " cried the friend. He took ; and hold- 
ing it 

High towards the heaven, as though to meet 
his star, 

Exclaimed, " This, too, I owe to thee, Jaffar ! " 

Leigh Hunt fJaffdrJ. 



32 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



13 

A stranger came one night to Yussouf 's tent, 
. Saying, " Behold one outcast and in dread, 
Against whose life the bow of power is bent, 
Who flies, and hath not where to lay his head; 
I come to thee for shelter and for food, 
To Yussouf, called through all our tribes l The 
Good."' 

" This tent is mine," said Yussouf, " but no more 
Than it is God's; come in, and be at peace; 
Freely shalt thou partake of all my store 
As I of His who buildeth over these 
Our tents his glorious roof of night and day, 
And at whose door none ever yet heard Nay." 

So Yussouf entertained his guest that night, 
And, waking him ere day, said: "Here is gold, 
My swiftest horse is saddled for thy flight; 
Depart before the prying day grow bold." 
As one lamp lights another, nor grows less, 
So nobleness enkindleth nobleness. 



BEDSIDE POETRY, 33 

That inward light the stranger's face made grand 
Which shines from all self -conquest ; kneeling 

low, 
He bowed his forehead upon Yussouf 's hand, 
Sobbing : " Sheik, I cannot leave thee so ; 
I will repay thee; all this thou hast done 
Unto that Ibrahim who slew thy son ! " 

" Take thrice the gold," said Yussouf , " for with 

thee 
Into the desert, never to return, 
My one black thought shall ride away from me. 
First-born, for whom by day and night I yearn, 
Balanced and just are all of God's decrees; 
Thou art avenged, my first-born, sleep in peace ! " 

Lowell (Yussouf). 



34 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



14 

Iokman the Wise, therefore the Good (for wise 
J Is but sage good, seeing with final eyes), 
Was slave once to a lord, jealous though kind, 
Who, piqued sometimes at the man's master 

mind, 
G-ave him, one day, to see how he would treat 
So strange a grace, a bitter gourd to eat. 

With simplest reverence, and no surprise, 

The sage received what stretched the donor's 

eyes; 
And, piece by piece, as though it had been food 
To feast and gloat on, every morsel chewed ; 
And so stood eating, with his patient beard, 
Till all the nauseous favor disappeared. 

Vexed, and confounded, and disposed to find 
Some ground of scorn on which to ease his mind, 
"Lokman! " exclaimed his master, "in God's 

name, 
Where could the veriest slave get soul so tame ? 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 35 

Have all my favors been bestowed amiss? 
Or could not brains like thine have saved thee 
this?" 

Calmly stood Lokman still, as duty stands — 
" Have I received," he answered, " at thine hands 
Favors so sweet they went to mine heart's root, 
And could I not accept one bitter fruit?" 

u O Lokman!" said his lord (and as he spoke, 
For very love his words in softness broke), 
"Take but this favor yet: — Be slave no more; 
Be, as thou art, my friend and counsellor. 
Oh be; nor let me quit thee, self-abhorred: 
Tis I that am the slave, and thou the lord." 

Leigh Hunt (The Bitter Gourd). 



36 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



15 

Saint Patrick, slave to Milcho of the herds 
Of Ballymen, awakened with these words: 
"Arise, and flee 
Out from the land of bondage, and be free ! n 

Glad as a soul in pain who hears from heaven 
The angels singing of his sins forgiven, 

And, wondering, sees 
His prison opening to their golden keys, 

He rose a man who laid him down a slave, 
Shook from his locks the ashes of the grave, 

And outward trod 
Into the glorious liberty of G-od. 

He cast the symbols of his shame away j 
And, passing where the sleeping Milcho lay, 

Though back and limb 
Smarted with wrong, he prayed, " God pardon 
him ! » 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 37 

So went he forth; but in God's time he came 
To light on Uilline's hills a holy flame j 

And ; dying, gave 
The land a saint that lost him as a slave. 
Whittier (The Proclamation) 



38 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 



16 

abou ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) 
Jl\. Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
And saw, within the moonlight in his room, 
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, 
An angel writing in a book of gold. 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 
And to the presence in the room he said, 
' ' What writest thou V — The vision raised its head, 
And, with a look made all of sweet accord, 
Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord." 
" And is mine one f w said Abon. " Nay, not so," 
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, 
But cheerly still 5 and said, "I pray thee, then, 
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 



The angel wrote and vanished. The next night 
It came again, with a great wakening light, 
And showed the names whom love of God had 

blessed, 
And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 
Leigh Hunt (Abou ben Adhem). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 



17 

I MET a traveller from an antique land 
Who said : Two vast and trunkless legs of 
stone 
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, 
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, 
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, 
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read 
Which yet survive (stamped on these lifeless 

things) 
The hand that mocked them and the heart that 

fed; 
And on the pedestal these words appear: 
" My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings : 
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair ! " 
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare 
The lone and level sands stretch far away. 

Shelley (Ozymandias). 



40 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



18 

TT was a summer evening; 
Old Kaspar's work was done, 
And lie "before his cottage door 

Was sitting in the sun; 
And by him sported on the green 
His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 

She saw her brother Peterkin 
Roll something large and round, 

Which he beside the rivulet 
In playing there had found; 

He came to ask what he had found 

That was so large and smooth and round 

Old Kaspar took it from the boy, 

Who stood expectant by; 
And then the old man shook his head, 

And, with a natural sigh, 
"'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, 
"Who fell in the great victory. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 41 

"I find them in the garden, 

For there's many here about; 
And often, when I go to plough, 

The ploughshare turns them out. 
For many thousand men/ 7 said he, 
"Were slain in that great victory." 

"Now tell us what 'twas all about," 

Young Peterkin he cries; 
And little Wilhelmine looks up 

With wonder- waiting eyes; 
"Now tell us all about the war, 
And what they fought each other for." 

"It was the English," Kaspar cried, 
"Who put the French to rout; 

But what they fought each other for ; 
I could not well make out. 

But everybody said," quoth he, 

"That 'twas a famous victory. 

"My father lived at Blenheim then, 

Yon little stream hard by; 
They burnt his dwelling to the ground, 

And he was forced to fly: 

4* 



42 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

So with his wife and child he fled, 
Nor had he where to rest his head. 



" With fire and sword the country round 

Was wasted far and wide, 
And many a childing mother then 

And new-born baby died: 
But things like that, you know, must be 
At every famous victory. 



"They say it was a shocking sight 

After the field was won- 
For many thousand bodies here 

Lay rotting in the sun: 
But things like that, you know, must be 
After a famous victory. 



"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, 
And our good Prince Eugene." 

" Why, 'twas a very wicked thing ! " 
Said little Wilhelmine. 

" Nay — nay — my little girl," quoth he, 

"It was a famous victory. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 43 

"And everybody praised the Duke 

Who this great fight did win." 
"But what good came of it at last?" 

Quoth little Peterkin. 
" Why, that I cannot tell," said he, 
"But 'twas a famous victory." 

Southey (The Battle of Blenheim), 



44 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



19 

This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, 
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished 
arms ; 
But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing 
Startles the villages with strange alarms. 

Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, 
When the death-angel touches those swift keys ! 

What loud lament and dismal Miserere 
Will mingle with their awful symphonies ! 

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus, 
The cries of agony, the endless groan, 

Which, through the ages that have gone before us, 
In long reverberations reach our own. 

On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer, 
Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's 
song, 

And loud, amid the universal clamor, 

O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 45 

I hear the Florentine, who from his palace 
Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din, 

And Aztec priests upon their teocallis 

Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin; 

The tumult of each sacked and burning village ; 

The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns ; 
The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage; 

The wail of famine in beleaguered towns; 

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, 
The rattling musketry, the clashing blade; 

And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, 
The diapason of the cannonade. 

Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, 
With such accursed instruments as these, 

Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices, 
And j arrest the celestial harmonies! 

Were half the power that fills the world with terror, 
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and 
courts, 

Given to redeem the human mind from error, 
There were no need of arsenals nor forts : 



46 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

The warrior's name would be a name abhorred ! 

And every nation that should lift again 
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead 

Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain! 

Down the dark future, through long generations, 
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then 
cease ; 
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, 
I hear once more the voice of Christ say, 
" Peace !» 

Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals 
The blast of War's great organ shakes the 
skies ! 
But, beautiful as songs of the immortals, 
The holy melodies of love arise. 

Longfellow (The Arsenal at Springfield). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 47 



20 

AS Life's unending column pours, 
JIjL Two marshalled hosts are seen, — 
Two armies on the trampled shores 

That Death flows black between. 

One marches to the drum-beat's roll, 
The wide-mouthed clarion's bray, 

And bears, upon a crimson scroll, 
"Our glory is to slay." 

One moves in silence by the stream. 

With sad yet watchful eyes, 
Calm as the patient planet's gleam 

That walks the clouded skies. 

Along its front no sabres shine, 

No blood-red pennons wave; 
Its banner bears the single line, 

" Our duty is to save." 

Holies (Tlie Two Armies). 



48 BEDSIDE POETRY, 



21 

Can I see another's woe 
And not be in sorrow too ? 
Can I see another's grief 
And not seek for kind relief? 

Can I see a falling tear 
And not feel my sorrow's share? 
Can a father see his child 
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled? 

Can a mother sit and hear 
An infant groan, an infant fear? 
No, no ! never can it be ! 
Never, never can it be ! 

Blake (On Another's Sorrow). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 49 



22 

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man 
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to 
your door, 
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span ; 
Oh ! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store. 

These tattered clothes my poverty bespeak, 
These hoary locks proclaim my lengthened 
years ; 

And many a furrow in my grief- worn cheek 
Has been the channel to a stream of tears. 

Yon house, erected on the rising ground, 

With tempting aspect drew me from my road ; 

For Plenty there a residence has found, 
And Grandeur a magnificent abode. 

Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor ! 

Here, craving for a morsel of their bread, 
A pampered menial forced me from the door, 

To seek a shelter in an humbler shed. 
5 



50 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

Oh! take me to your hospitable dome; 

Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold! 
Short is my passage to the friendly tomb, 

For I am poor and miserably old. 

Thomas Moss (The Beggar). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 51 



23 



Sweet Mercy ! how my very heart has bled 
To see thee, poor Old Man ! and thy gray 
hairs 
Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one cares 
To clothe thy shrivelled limbs and palsied head. 
My Father f throw away this tattered vest 
That mocks thy shivering! take my garment — 

nse 
A young man's arm ! I'll melt these frozen dews 
That hang from thy white beard and numb thy 

breast. 
My Sara too shall tend thee, like a child: 
And thou shalt talk, in our fireside's recess. 
Of purple pride that scowls on wretchedness. 
He did not so, the G-alilean mild, 
Who met the Lazars turned from rich men's 

doors, 

And called them Friends, and healed their noisome 

sores ! 

Coleridge. 



52 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



24 

OH ye! who, sunk in beds of down. 
Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate 
Whom friends and fortune quite disown ! 
Ill- satisfied keen nature's clamorous call. 

Stretched on his straw he lays himself to sleep, 
While, through the ragged roof and chinky wall, 
Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap! 
Think on the dungeon's grim confine, 
Where guilt and poor misfortune pine ! 

Affliction's sons are brothers in distress : 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss ! 
Burns (A Winter Night). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 53 



25 



Ah ! bleak and barren was the moor, 
_ Ah! loud and piercing was the storm; 
The cottage roof was sheltered sure, 

The cottage hearth was bright and warin. 
An orphan-boy the lattice passed, 

And, as he marked its cheerful glow, 
Felt doubly keen the midnight blast, 
And doubly cold the fallen snow. 

They marked him as he onward pressed, 

With fainting heart and weary limb ; 
Kind voices bade him turn and rest, 

And gentle faces welcomed him. 
The dawn is up — the guest is gone, 

The cottage hearth is blazing still: 
Heaven pity all poor wanderers lone ! 

Hark to the wind upon the hill ! 

Thackeray, 



54 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



26 

BLOW, blow, thou winter wind, 
Thou art not so unkind 
As man's ingratitude; 
Thy tooth is not so keen 
Because thou art not seen, 
Although thy breath be rude. 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
Thou dost not bite so nigh 
As benefits forgot: 
Though thou the waters warp, 
Thy sting is not so sharp 
As friend remembered not. 

Shakspere (As You Like It). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 55 



27 



A las ! they had been friends in youth ; 
-XX. But whispering tongues can poison truth 
And constancy lives in realms above ; 
And life is thorny j and youth is vain 3 
And to be wroth with one we love, 
Doth work like madness in the brain. 
And thus it chanced, as I divine, 
With Roland and Sir Leoline. 
Each spake words of high disdain 
And insult to his heart's best brother : 
They parted — ne'er to meet again! 
But never either found another 
To free the hollow heart from paining — 
They stood aloof, the scars remaining, 
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; 
A dreary sea now flows between; — 
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, 
Shall wholly do away, I ween, 
The marks of that which once hath been. 
Coleridge (Christdbel). 



56 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



28 

These little firs to-day are things 
To clasp into a giant's cap, 
Or fans to suit his lady's lap. 
From many winters many springs 

Shall cherish them in strength and sap, 
Till they be marked npon the map, 
A wood for the wind's wanderings. 

All seed is in the sower's hands : 

And what at first was trained to spread 
Its shelter for some single head, — 

Tea, even such fellowship of wands, — 
May hide the sunset, and the shade 
Of its great multitude be laid 

Upon the earth and elder sands. 

D. Or. Rossetti (A Young Fir -Wood J. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 57 



29 

O truth! O Freedom! how are ye stillborn 
In the rude stable, in the manger nursed ! 
What humble hands unbar those gates of morn 
Through which the splendors of the New Day 
burst ! 

Who is it will not dare himself to trust? 

Who is it hath not strength to stand alone? 
Who is it thwarts and bilks the inward must? 

He and his works, like sand, from earth are 
blown. 

Shall we not heed the lesson taught of old, 
And by the Present's lips repeated still, 

In our own single manhood to be bold, 
Fortressed in conscience and impregnable will ? 

We stride the river daily at its spring, 

Nor, in our childish thoughtlessness, foresee 

What myriad vassal streams shall tribute bring, 
How like an equal it shall greet the sea. 



58 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

O small beginnings, ye are great and strong, 
Based on a faithful heart and weariless brain ! 

Ye bnild the future fair, ye conquer wrong, 
Ye earn the crown, and wear it not in vain. 
Lowell (To W. L. Garrison). 



30 

Small service is true service while it lasts: 
Of humblest friends, bright creature ! scorn 
not one ; 
The Daisy, by the shadow that it casts, 
Protects the lingering dew-drop from the sun. 
Wordsworth (In a Child's Album j. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 59 



31 

Iittle thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked 
A clown 
Of thee from the hill-top looking down ; 
The heifer that lows in the upland farm, 
Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm 5 
The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, 
Deems not that great Napoleon 
Stops his horse, and lists with delight, 
Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height ; 
Nor knowest thou what argument 
Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. 
All are needed by each one ; 
Nothing is fair or good alone. 
I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, 
Singing at dawn on the alder bough; 
I brought him home, in his nest, at even; 
He sings the song, but it pleases not now, 
Fori did not bring home the river and sky; — 
He sang to my ear, — they sang to my eye. 
The delicate shells lay on the shore; 



60 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 



The bubbles of the latest wave 
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave; 
And the bellowing of the savage sea 
Greeted their safe escape to me. 
I wiped away the weeds and foam, 
I fetched my sea-born treasures home; 
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things 
Had left their beauty on the shore 
With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar. 
Emerson (Each and All). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 61 



32 

EVERY night and every morn 
Some to misery are born; 
Every morn and every night 
Some are born to sweet delight; 
Some are born to sweet delight, 
Some are born to endless night. 
Joy and woe are woven fine, 
A clothing for the soul divine; 
Under every grief and pine 
Runs a joy with silken twine. 
It is right it should be so: 
Man was made for joy and woe; 
And when this we rightly know, 
Safely through the world we go. 

Blake (Auguries of Innocence J. 



62 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



33 

I saw a mother and her child, — 
A spectacle of every day ! 
As many a mother smiles, she smiled, 

He played as any child might play; 
Yet was her heart so full, she turned 

To him who owned a father's name, 
And, while her cheek, all rosy, burned, 

Cried, " May he never come to shame ! 7? 
Her words were oracles: long years 
Have solved the riddle of her fears. 

I saw a youth amidst the tide 

Of city life, that ever rolls, 
Wave urging wave, from side to side, 

A soul among a million souls: 
By none acknowledged, knowing none, 

Homeless and hopeless, yet a spark, 
The latest of a secret flame, 

He deeply cherished in the dark,— 
Nameless, to leave a deathless name. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 63 

He slept and dreamed his dream anew y 
Years passed — he woke — and found it true! 
Montgomery f Fragment of a Life). 



34 

AH ! if thy fate, with anguish fraught, 
_ Should be to wet the dusty soil 
With the hot tears and sweat of toil, — 
To struggle with imperious thought 
Until the overburdened brain, 
Weary with labor, faint with pain, 
Like a jarred pendulum, retain 
Only its motion, not its power, — 
Remember, in that perilous hour, 
When most afflicted and oppressed, 
From labor there shall come forth rest. 

And if a more auspicious fate 
On thy advancing steps await, 
Still let it ever be thy pride 
To linger by the laborer's side ; 



64 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

With words of sympathy or song 
To cheer the dreary march along 
Of the great army of the poor, 
O'er desert sand, o'er dangerous moor. 
Nor to thyself the task shall be 
"Without reward j for thou shalt learn 
The wisdom early to discern 
True beauty in utility. 

Longfellow (To a Child). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 65 



35 

The Future hides in it 
Gladness and sorrow 5 
We press still thorow, — 
Nought that abides in it 
Daunting us, — onward. 

And solemn before us, 
Veiled, the dark Portal, 
Goal of all mortal: — 
Stars silent rest o'er us, 
Graves under us silent ! 

While earnest thou gazest, 
Comes boding of terror, 
Comes phantasm and error j 
Perplexes the bravest 
With doubt and misgiving. 

But heard are the Voices, 

Heard are the Sages, 

The Worlds and the Ages: 



66 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

" Choose well, your choice is 
Brief, and yet endless. 

" Here eyes do regard you 
In Eternity's stillness; 
Here is all fulness, 
Ye brave! to reward you; 
Work, and despair not ! '' 
Goethe, translated by Carlyle fSymbolumJ. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 67 



36 

Looking within myself, I note how thin 
4 A plank of station, chance, or prosperous 
fate 
Doth fence me from the clutching waves of 
sin : 
In my own heart I find the worst man's 

mate, 
And see not dimly the smooth-hinged gate 
That opes to those abysses 
Where ye grope darkly, — ye who never knew 
On your young hearts love's consecrating dew, 
Or felt a mother's kisses, 
Or home's restraining tendrils round you 

curled. 
Ah, side by side with heart's-ease in this world 
The fatal nightshade grows, and bitter rue ! 
Lowell (Si Bescendero in Infemum, AdesJ. 



68 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



37 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
Some heart once pregnant with celestial 
fire; 
Hands that the rod of empire might have 

swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre: 

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; 
Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Gray (Megy in a Country Churchyard). 



BEDSIDE POETRY- 69 



38 

Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, 
From yon blue heavens above us bent 
The gardener Adam and his wife 

Smile at the claims of long descent. 
However it be, it seems to me 
>Tis only noble to be good. 
Kind hearts are more than coronets, 
And simple faith than Norman blood. 
Tennyson (Lady Clara Vere de Yere). 



70 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



39 

Is there, for honest poverty, 
That hangs his head, and a' that? 
The coward slave, we pass him bv. 

We dare be poo: for a' that! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toils obscure, and a' that; 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
The man's the gowd for a' that I 

What though on namely fare we dine, 

Wear hoddin gray, and a' that, 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 

A man's a man, for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 

Is king o ? men for a' that ! 

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd "a lord," 
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 71 

Though hundreds worship at his word, 

He's but a coof for a' that : 
For a 7 that, and a' that, 

His riband, star, and a' that; 
The man of independent mind, 

He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A king can mak a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that, 
But an honest man's aboon his might, 

G-ude faith, he mauna f a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their dignities, and a' that, 
The pith o' sense and pride o' worth 

Are higher rank than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may — 

As come it will for a' that — 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 

Shall bear the gree, and a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It's comin' yet for a' that, 
That man to man, the world o'er, 

Shall brothers be for a' that ! 

Burns. 



72 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



40 

The rich man's son inherits lands, 
And piles of brick, and stone, and gold, 
And he inherits soft white hands, 
And tender flesh that fears the cold, 
Nor dares to wear a garment old; 
A heritage, it seems to me, 
One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 

The rich man's son inherits cares : 

The bank may break, the factory burn, 

A breath may burst his bubble shares, 
And soft white hands could hardly earn 
A living that would serve his turn ; 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 

What doth the poor man's son inherit? 

Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, 
A hardy frame, a hardier spirit; 

King of two hands, he does his part 

In every useful toil and art; 
A heritage, it seems to me, 
A king might wish to hold in fee. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 73 

What doth the poor man's son inherit ? 
A patience learned of being poor, 

Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it, 
A fellow-feeling that is sure 
To make the outcast bless his door; 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

A king might wish to hold in fee. 

O rich man's son ! there is a toil 
That with all others level stands : 

Large charity doth never soil, 

But only whiten, soft white hands, — 
This is the best crop from thy lands ; 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

Worth being rich to hold in fee. 

poor man's son ! scorn not thy state ; 
There is worse weariness than thine, 

In merely being rich and great; 
Toil only gives the soul to shine, 
And makes rest fragrant and benign ; 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

Worth being poor to hold in fee. 

Lowell (The Heritage). 



74 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



41 

MY fairest child, I have no song to give you ; 
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and 
gray: 
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you 
For every day. 

Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever ; 
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long ; 
And so make Life, Death, and that vast Forever 
One grand, sweet song. 

Kingsley (A Farewell). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 75 



42 

Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn ? 
Where may the grave of that good man 
be? — 
By the side of a spring, on the breast of Hel- 

vellyn, 
Under the twigs of a young birch tree ! 
The oak that in summer was sweet to hear, 
And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year, 
And whistled and roared in the winter alone, 
Is gone, — and the birch in its stead is grown. — 
The Knight's bones are dust, 
And his good sword rust : — 
His soul is with the saints, I trust. 

Coleridge (The KnigMs Tomb). 



76 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



43 

How seldom, Friend ! a good great man 
inherits 
Honor or wealth, with all his worth and pains ! 
It sounds like stories from the land of spirits 
If any man obtain that which he merits, 
Or any merit that which he obtains. 

For shame, dear Friend! renounce this canting 

strain ! 
What wouldst thou have a good great man obtain? 
Place — titles — salary — a gilded chain — 
Or throne of corses which his sword hath 

slain? — 
Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends ! 
Hath he not always treasures, always friends, 
The good great man ! — three treasures, love and 

light, 
And calm thoughts, regular as infant's breath ; — 
And three firm friends, more sure than day 

and night — 
Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death. 

Coleridge (Complaint, and Reproof). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 77 



44 

It is not growing like a tree 
In bulk, doth make Man better be; 
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere : 
A lily of a day 
Is fairer far in May, 
Although it fall and die that night — 
It was the plant and flower of Light. 
In small proportions we just beauties see; 
And in short measures life may perfect be. 

Ben Jonson. 



78 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



45 

A wearied pilgrim I have wandered here 
Twice five-and-twenty, bate me but one 
year; 
Long I have lasted in this world, 'tis true, 
But yet those years that I have lived, but few. 
Who by his gray hairs doth his lustres tell, 
Lives not those years, but he that lives them 

well: 
One man has reached his sixty years, but he 
Of all those three-score has not lived half three : 
He lives who lives to virtue j men who cast 
Their ends for pleasure, do not live, but last. 

Herrick. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 79 



46 

Iife is real ! Life is earnest ! 
A And the grave is not its goal; 
Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 
Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way, 
But to act, that each to-morrow 

Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 
And our hearts, though stout and brave, 

Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of Life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 

Be a hero in the strife ! 

Trust no Future, however pleasant! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
Act, — act in the living Present! 

Heart within, and God overhead ! 



80 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of Time, — 

Footprints that perhaps another, 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 

With a heart for any fate ; 
Still achieving, still pursuing, 

Learn to labor and to wait. 

Longfellow (A Psalm of Life). 



47 

IT fortifies my soul to know 
That, though I perish, Truth is so : 
That, howsoe'er I stray and range, 
Whatever I do, Thou dost not change : 
I steadier step when I recall 
That, if I slip, Thou dost not fall. 

Clough. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 81 



48 

Iife ! I know not what thou art, 
J But know that thou and I must part j 
And when, or how, or where we met 
I own to me ; s a secret yet. 

Life ! we've been long together 
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 
? Tis hard to part when friends are dear, — 
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; 
Then steal away, give little warning, 

Choose thine own time ; 
Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter 
clime 

Bid me Good Morning. 

Baebauld (Life and Death). 



82 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



49 

Fear no more the heat o> the sun 
Nor the furious winter's rages; 
Thou thy worldly task hast done, 

Home art gone and ta'en thy wages : 
Golden lads and girls all must, 
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

Fear no more the frown o' the great, 
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 

Care no more to clothe and eat; 
To thee the reed is as the oak: 

The sceptre, learning, physic, must 

All follow this, and come to dust. 

Fear no more the lightning flash 
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; 

Fear not slander, censure rash; 
Thou hast finished joy and moan : 

All lovers young, all lovers must 

Consign to thee, and come to dust. 

Shakspere (Gymbeline). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 83 



W 



50 

E are all here ! 
Father, mother, 
Sister, brother, 
All who hold each other dear. 
Each chair is filled — we're all at home; 
To-night let no cold stranger come; 
It is not often thus aronnd 
Our old familiar hearth we're found. 
Bless, then, the meeting and the spot ; 
For once be- every care forgot ; 
Let gentle Peace assert her power, 
And kind Affection rule the hour; 
We're all — all here. 

We're not all here ! 
Some are away — the dead ones dear, 
Who thronged with us this ancient hearth, 
And gave the hour to guiltless mirth. 
Fate, with a stern, relentless hand, 
Looked in and thinned our little band; 



84 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

Some like a night-flash passed away, 
And some sank, lingering, day by day ; 
The quiet graveyard — some lie there — 
And cruel Ocean has his share — 
We're not all here. 

We are all here ! 
Even they — the dead — though dead, so dear 
Fond Memory, to her duty true, 
Brings back their faded forms to view. 
How life-like, through the mist of years, 
Each well-remembered face appears! 
We see them as in times long past; 
From each to each kind looks are cast; 
We hear their words, their smiles behold, 
They're round us as they were of old — 

We are all here. 

Sprague (The Family Meeting). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 85 



51 

I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty; 
I woke, and found that life was Duty. 
Was my dream, then, a shadowy lie? 
Toil on, poor heart, unceasingly 5 
And thou shalt find thy dream to be 
A truth and noonday light to thee. 

Hooper (Life a Duty). 



86 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



52 

Yea, let all good things await 
Him who cares not to be great 
But as he saves or serves the state. 
Not once or twice, in our rough island-story. 
The path of Duty was the way to glory: 
He that walks it, only thirsting 
For the right, and learns to deaden 
Love of self, before his journey closes 
He shall find the stubborn thistle bursting 
Into glossy purples, which outredden 
All voluptuous garden-roses. 
Not once or twice, in our fair island-story, 
The path of Duty was the way to glory: 
He that, ever following her commands, 
On with toil of heart and knees and hands, 
Through the long gorge to the far light has won 
His path upward, and prevailed, 
Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaled 
Are close upon the shining table-lands 
To which our Grod himself is moon and sun. 
Tennyson (Wellington). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 87 



53 

Life may be given in many ways, 
i And loyalty to Truth be sealed 
As bravely in the closet as the field, 
So bountiful is Fate; 
But then to stand beside her 
When craven churls deride her, 
To front a lie in arms and not to yield — 
This shows, methinks, God's plan 
And measure of a stalwart man, 
Limbed like the old heroic breeds, 
"Who stands self -poised on manhood's solid earth , 
Not forced to frame excuses for his birth, 
Fed from within with all the strength he needs. 
Lowell (Commemoration Ode). 



BEDSIDE POETRY, 



54 

Earth cannot show so brave a sight 
As when a single soul does fence 
The battery of alluring sense : 
And Heaven views it with delight. 

Then persevere : for still new charges sound. 
And if thou overeom'st thou sha.lt be crowned. 
XLarvell (Dialogue beticeeti the Resolved Soul and 
Created Pleasure j. 



33 

~*% |"ex! whose boast it is that ye 
-Lt_L Come of fathers brave and free, 
If there breathe on earth a slave. 
Are ye truly five and brave f 
If ye do not feel the chain 
When it works a brother's pain, 
Are ye not base slaves indeed. 
Slaves unworthv to be freed? 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 89 

Is true Freedom but to break 
Fetters for our own dear sake, 
And, with leathern hearts, forget 
That we owe mankind a debt? 
No ! true freedom is to share 
All the chains our brothers wear, 
And, with heart and hand, to be 
Earnest to make others free ! 

They are slaves who fear to speak 

For the fallen and the weak- 

They are slaves who will not choose 

Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, 

Rather than in silence shrink 

From the truth they needs must think; 

They are slaves who dare not be 

In the right with two or three. 

Lowell (Stanzas on Freedom). 



90 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



56 

The timid it concerns to ask their way, 
And fear what foe in caves and swamps 
can stray; 
To make no step until the event is known; 
And ills to come, as evils past, bemoan. 
Not so the Wise. No coward watch he keeps 
To spy what danger on his pathway creeps. 
Go where he will, the wise man is at home — 
His hearth, the earth ; his hall, the azure dome. 
Where his clear spirit leads him, there his road, 
By G-od's own light illumined and foreshowed. 
Emerson (On Henry Thoreauj. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 91 



57 

Owell for him whose will is strong! 
He suffers, but he will not suffer long ; 
He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong ; 
For him nor moves the loud world's random mock, 
Nor all Calamity's hugest waves confound, 
Who seems a promontory of rock, 
That, compassed round with turbulent sound, 
In middle ocean meets the surging shock, 
Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crowned. 

Tennyson (Will J, 



92 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



58 

How happy is he born and taught 
That serveth not another's will; 
Whose armor is his honest thought, 
And simple truth his utmost skill! 

Whose passions not his masters are; 
Whose soul is still prepared for death, 
Untied unto the world by care 
Of public fame or private breath ; 

Who envies none that chance doth raise, 
Nor vice; hath never understood 
How deepest wounds are given by praise,- 
Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; 

Who hath his life from rumors freed j 
Whose conscience is his strong retreat; 
Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
Nor ruin make oppressors great; 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 93 

Who Grod doth late and early pray 
More of his grace than gifts to lend; 
And entertains the harmless day 
With a religious book or friend ! 

This man is freed from servile bands 
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; 
Lord of himself, though not of lands ; 
And, having nothing, yet hath all. 

Wotton (Character of a Happy Life). 



94 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



59 



TURN, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the 
proud ; 
Turn thy wild wheel through sunshine, storm, 

and cloud; 
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. 

Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown; 
With that wild wheel we go not up or down; 
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great. 

Smile, and we smile, the lords of many lands; 
Frown, and we smile, the lords of our own hands ; 
For man is man and master of his fate. 

Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd ; 
Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud; 
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. 

Tennyson (Enid). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 95 



60 

Saint Augustine ! well hast thou said, 
That of our vices we can frame 
A ladder, if we will but tread 
Beneath our feet each deed of shame! 

All common things, each day's events 
That with the hour begin and end, 

Our pleasures and our discontents, 
Are rounds by which we may ascend. 

The longing for ignoble things ; 

The strife for triumph more than truth ; 
The hardening of the heart, that brings 

Irreverence for the dreams of youth; 

All thoughts of ill 5 all evil deeds 

That have their root in thoughts of ill; 

Whatever hinders or impedes 
The action of the nobler will ; — 



96 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

All these mnst first be trampled down 
Beneath onr feet, if we wonld gain 

In the bright fields of fair renown 
The right of eminent domain. 

We have not wings, we cannot soar; 

Bnt we have feet to scale and climb 
By slow degrees, by more and more, 

The clondy snmmits of onr time. 

The mighty pyramids of stone 

That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, 

When nearer seen, and better known, 
Are bnt gigantic flights of stairs. 

The distant mountains that nprear 
Their solid bastions to the skies, 

Are crossed by pathways, that appear 

As we to higher levels rise. 
Longfellow (The Ladder of St. Augustine). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 



61 

tttho is the honest man? 

T V He that doth still and strongly good 
pursue, 
To God, his neighbor, and himself most true : 

Whom neither force nor fawning can 
Unpin, or wrench from giving all their due. 

Whose honesty is not 
So loose or easy that a ruffling wind 
Can blow away, or glittering look it blind : 

Who rides his sure and even trot, 
While the world now rides by, now lags behind. 

Who, when great trials come, 
Nor seeks nor shuns them; but doth calmly 

stay, 
Till he the thing and the example weigh : 

All being brought into a sum, 
What place or person calls for, he doth pay. 
9 



98 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

Whom none can work or woo 
To use in anything a trick or sleight ; 
For above all things he abhors deceit: 

His words and works and fashion too 
All of a piece, and all are clear and straight 

Who never melts or thaws 
At close temptations : when the day is done, 
His goodness sets not, but in dark can run: 

The sun to others writeth laws, 
And is their virtue ; Virtue is his Sun. 

Whom nothing can procure, 
When the wide world runs bias, from his will 
To writhe his limbs, and share, not mend, the ill. 

This is the Mark-man safe and sure, 
Who still is right, and prays to be so still. 
George Herbert (Constancy). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 99 



62 



I IE not; but let thy heart be true to God, 
J Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both : 
Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod; 
The stormy- working soul spits lies and froth. 
Bare to be true. Nothing can need a lie : 
A fault, which needs it most, grows two thereby. 
George Herbert (The Church Porch). 



63 

But if thou do thy best, 
"Without remission, without rest, 
And invite the sunbeam, 
And abhor to feign or seem 
Even to those who thee should love 
And thy behavior approve; 
If thou go in thine own likeness, — 
Be it health or be it sickness, — 
If thou go as thy father's son, 
If thou wear no mask or lie, 
Dealing purely and nakedly, — . . . 

Emerson. 



100 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



64 



Gently I took that which ungently came, 
And without scorn forgave. — Do thou the 

same. 
A wrong done to thee think a cat's-eye spark 
Thou wouldst not see, were not thine own 

heart dark. 
Thine own keen sense of wrong that thirsts for 

sin, 
Fear that — the spark self -kindled from within, 
Which blown upon will blind thee with its glare, 
Or smothered stifle thee with noisome air. 
Clap on the extinguisher, pull up the blinds, 
And soon the ventilated spirit finds 
Its natural daylight. If a foe have kenned, 
Or worse than foe, an alienated friend, 
A rib of dry rot in thy ship's stout side, 
Think it God's message, and in humble pride 
With heart of oak replace it ; — thine the gains — 
Grive him the rotten timber for his pains! 

Coleridge (" Beareth all things "J. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 101 



65 

are there not, then, two musics unto men? — 
11 One loud and bold and coarse, 
And overpowering still perforce 

All tone and tune beside; 

Yet, in despite its pride, 
Only of fumes of foolish fancy bred, 
And sounding solely in the sounding head: x 

The other soft and low, 

Stealing whence we not know, 
Painfully heard, and easily forgot, 
With pauses oft and many a silence strange, 
(And silent oft it seems when silent it is not,) 
Revivals, too, of unexpected change: 
Haply thou think'st 'twill never be begun, 
Or that 't has come, and been, and passed away j 

Yet turn to other none, — 

Turn not, O, turn not thou ! 
But listen, listen, listen, — if haply be heard it 

may; 
Listen, listen, listen, — is it not sounding now? 



102 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

Yea, and as thought of some beloved friend 
By death or distance parted will descend, 
Severing, in crowded rooms ablaze with light. 
As by a magic screen, the seer from the sight. 
(Palsying the nerves that intervene 
The eye and central sense between,) 

So may the ear, 

Hearing, not hear. 
Though drams do roll, and pipes and cymbals 

ring: 
So the bare conscience of the better thing 
Unfelt, unseen, nnimaged, all unknown, 
May fix the entranced soul "mid multitudes 
alone. 

Clough. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 103 



66 

THIS is the ship of pearl which, poets feign, 
Sails the unshadowed main, — 
The venturous bark that flings 
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings 
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, 

And coral reefs lie bare, 
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their 
streaming hair. 

Year after year beheld the silent toil 

That spread his lustrous coil 5 

Still, as the spiral grew, 
He left the past year's dwelling for the new, 
Stole with soft step its shining archway through, 

Built up its idle door, 
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the 
old no more. 

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, 
As the swift seasons roll ! 
Leave thy low-vaulted past ! 



104 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

Let each new temple, nobler than the last, 
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, 

Till thon at length art free, 
Leaving thine outgrown shell by lif e's unresting 
sea! 

Holmes (The Chambered Nautilus). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 105 



67 

'fT^is common sense, and human wit 
-L Can claim no higher name than it. 
Submit, submit! 

For tell me, then, in earth's great laws 
Have you found any saving clause? 
Exemption special granted you 
From doing what the rest must do? 
Of common sense who made you quit, 
And told you you'd no need of it? 
Nor to submit? 

This stern necessity of things 
On every side our being rings ; 
Our eager aims, still questing round, 
Find exit none from that great bound. 
Where once her law dictates the way, 
The wise thinks only to obey, 
Take life as she has ordered it, 
And, come what may of it, submit, 
Submit, submit! 



106 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

Who take implicitly her will, 
For these her vassal chances still 
Bring store of joys, successes, pleasures ; 
But whoso ponders, weighs, and measures, 
She calls her torturers up to goad 
With spur and scourges on the road. 
0, lest you yield not timely, ere 
Her lips that mandate pass, beware! 
Beware, beware! 

? Tis common sense ! and human wit 
Can claim no higher name than it. 
Submit, submit! 

Necessity! And who shall dare 
Bring to her feet excuse or prayer? 
Beware, beware! 

We must, we must: 

Howe'er we turn, and pause, and tremble, 

Howe'er we shrink, deceive, dissemble, 

Whatever our doubting, grief, disgust, 

The hand is on us, and we must; 

We must, we must. 

'Tis common sense, and human wit 

Can find no better name than it. 

Submit, submit! 

Clough. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 107 



68 

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 
The flying cloud, the frosty light : 
The year is dying in the night; 
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 

Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
Ring, happy bells, across the snow; 
The year is going, let him go; 

Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

Ring out the grief, that saps the mind, 
For those that here we see no more; 
Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 

Ring in redress to all mankind. 

Ring out a slowly dying cause 

And ancient forms of party strife; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life, 

"With sweeter manners, purer laws. 



108 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

Ring out the want, the care, the sin, 
The faithless coldness of the times ; 
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, 

But ring the fuller minstrel in. 

Ring out false pride in place and blood, 
The civic slander and the spite; 
Ring in the love of truth and right, 

Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring out old shapes of foul disease; 

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; 

Ring out the thousand wars of old, 
Ring in the thousand years of peace. 

Ring in the valiant man and free, 
The larger heart, the kindlier hand; 
Ring out the darkness of the land, 

Ring in the Christ that is to be. 

Tennyson (In MemoriamJ 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 109 



69 

Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books, 
Or surely you'll grow double: 
Up ! up ! my Friend, and clear your looks ; 
Why all this toil and trouble? 

The sun, above the mountain's head, 

A. freshening lustre mellow 

Through all the long green fields has spread. 

His first sweet evening yellow. 

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: 
Come, hear the woodland Linnet, 
How sweet his music ! on my life, 
There's more of wisdom in it. 

And hark! how blithe the Throstle sings! 
He, too, is no mean preacher: 
Come forth into the light of things, 
Let Nature be your teacher. 
10 



110 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

One impulse from a vernal wood 
May teach you more of man, 
Of moral evil and of good, 
Than all the sages can. 

Enough of Science and of Art,- 
Close up these barren leaves; 
Come forth, and bring with you a heart 
That watches and receives. 

Wordsworth (The Tables Turned J. 



BEDSIDE POETEY. Ill 



70 



Under the greenwood tree 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And tnne his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat — 
Come hither, come hither, come hither! 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Who doth ambition shun, 
And loves to live i ? the sun, 
Seeking the food he eats, 
And pleased with what he gets, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither! 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Shakspere (As You Like It). 



112 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



71 



IN May, when sea- winds pierced our solitudes, 
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, 
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 
To please the desert and the sluggish brook. 
The purple petals, fallen in the pool, 
Made the black water with their beauty gay; 
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, 
And court the flower that cheapens his array. 
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why 
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, 
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, 
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: 
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! 
I never thought to ask, I never knew; 
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose 
The self-same Power that brought me there 
brought you. 

Emerson (The Rhodora). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 113 



72 

Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? 
Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its 
stalk? 
At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulsed 
Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust? 
And loved so well a high behavior, 
In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained, 
Nobility more nobly to repay? 
O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine ! 
Emerson f Forbearance J. 



10* 



114 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



73 

"Tl y|~Y heart leaps up when I behold 
-Lt_L A Rainbow in the sky: 
So was it when my life began, 
So is it now I am a Man; 
So be it when I shall grow old, 

Or let me die! 
The Child is Father of the Man ; 
And I conld wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety. 

Wordsworth. 



74 

Thou canst not wave thy staff in air, 
Or dip thy paddle in the lake, 
But it carves the bow of beauty there, 
And the ripples in rhymes the oar forsake. 
Emerson ( Woodnotes). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 115 



75 



When the enemy is near thee, 
Call on us ! 
In our hands we will upbear thee, 
He shall neither scathe nor scare thee, 
He shall fly thee and shall fear thee. 
Call on us ! 

Call when all good friends have left thee, 
Of all good sights and sounds bereft thee, 
Call when hope and heart are sinking, 
When the brain is sick with thinking, 

Help, O help ! 
Call, and, following close behind thee, 
There shall haste and there shall find thee 

Help, sure help. 

When the panic comes upon thee, 
When necessity seems on thee, 
Hope and choice have all foregone thee, 
Fate and force are closing o'er thee, 
And but one way stands before thee, 
Call on us ! 



116 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

0, and if thou dost not call, 
Be but faithful, that is all! 
G-o right on. and close behind thee 
There shall follow still, and find thee. 
Help, sure help. 

Chough 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 117 



76 



Say not, the struggle naught availeth, 
The labor and the wounds are vain, 
The enemy faints not, nor faileth, 
And as things have been they remain. 

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; 

It may be, in yon smoke concealed, 
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, 

And, but for you, possess the field. 

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, 
Seem here no painful inch to gain, 

Far back, through creeks and inlets making, 
Comes silent, flooding in, the main. 

And not by eastern windows only, 
When daylight comes, comes in the light; 

In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly ! 
But westward, look, the land is bright. 

Clough. 



118 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



77 

•whttbat voice did on my spirit fall, 

t V Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost ? 
<0 Tis better to have fought and lost 
Than never to have fought at all." 

The tricolor — a trampled rag — 
Lies dirt and dust; the lines I track 
By sentries' boxes, yellow, black, 
Lead up to no Italian flag. 

I see the Croat soldier stand 
Upon the grass of your redoubts; 
The eagle with his black wing flouts 
The breadth and beauty of your land 

Yet not in vain, although in vain, 
O men of Brescia! on the day 
Of loss past hope, I heard you say 
Your welcome to the noble pain. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 119 

You said: " Since so it is, good-bye, 
Sweet life, high hope; but whatsoe'er 
May be, or must, no tongue shall dare 
To tell, 'The Lombard feared to die!'" 

You said (there shall be answer fit) : 
"And if our children must obey, 
They must; but, thinking on this day, 
'Twill less debase them to submit." 

You said (O not in vain you said) : 
" Haste, brothers, haste, while yet we may ; 
The hours ebb fast of this one day, 
While blood may yet be nobly shed." 

Ah! not for idle hatred, not 
For honor, fame, nor self -applause, 
But for the glory of the cause, 
You did what will not be forgot. 

And though the stranger stand, 'tis true, 
By force and fortune's right he stands: 
By fortune, which is in God's hands, 
And strength, which yet shall spring in you. 



120 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

This voice did on my spirit fall, 
Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost : 
"'Tis better to have fought and lost 
Than never to have fought at all." 



Or shall I say : " Vain word, false thought, 
Since Prudence hath her martyrs too, 
And Wisdom dictates not to do 
Till doing shall be not for naught? 

"Not ours to give or lose is life: 
Will Nature, when her brave ones fall, 
Remake her work? or songs recall 
Death's victim slain in useless strife V 

That rivers flow into the sea 

Is loss and waste, the foolish say, 

Nor know that back they find their way, 

Unseen, to where they wont to be. 

Showers fall upon the hills, springs flow, 
The river runneth still at hand, 
Brave men are born into the land, 
And whence, the foolish do not know. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 



121 



No ! no vain voice did on me fall. 
Peschiera, when thy bridge I erost : 
" 'lis better to have fought and lost 
Than never to have fonght at all." 

ClouCtH Peschiera J. 



11 



122 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



78 

"¥")rT"HEN a deed is done for Freedom, through 

▼ V the broad earth's aching breast 
Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from 

east to west, 
And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the soul 

within him climb 
To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy 

sublime 
Of a century bursts full-blossomed on the stormy 

stem of Time. 



For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct 

bears along, 
Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash 

of right or wrong; 
Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity's 

vast frame 
Through its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush 

of joy or shame: — 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 123 

In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have 
equal claim. 



Once to every man and nation comes the moment 
to decide, 

In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the 
good or evil side; 

Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering 
each the bloom or blight, 

Parts the goats upon the left hand and the sheep 
upon the right, 

And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that dark- 
ness and that light. 



Careless seems the great Avenger ; history's pages 

but record 
One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old 

systems and the Word; 
Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on 

the throne, — 
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind 

the dim unknown, 
Standeth G-od within the shadow, keeping watch 

above his own. 



124 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

We see dimly in the Present what is small and 

what is great, 
Slow of faith, how weak an arm may turn the 

iron helm of fate. 
But the soul is still oracular : amid the market's 

din, 
List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic 

cave within : 
" They enslave their children's children who make 

compromise with sin." 

Then to side with Truth is noble when we share 
her wretched crust, 

Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 7 tis pros- 
perous to be just 5 

Then it is the brave man chooses, while the 
coward stands aside, 

Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is 
crucified 

And the multitude make virtue of the faith they 
had denied. 



New occasions teach new duties; Time makes 



ancient good uncouth : 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 125 

They must upward still, and onward, who would 

keep abreast of Truth. 
Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires ! we ourselves 

must Pilgrims be, 
Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through 

the desperate winter sea, 
Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's 

blood-rusted key. 

Lowell (The Present Crisis). 



11* 



126 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



79 

The breaking waves dashed high 
On a stern and rock-bound coast, 
And the woods against a stormy sky 
Their giant branches tost ; 

And the heavy night hung dark 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New England shore. 

Not as the conqueror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, came : 
Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 

And the trumpet that sings of fame; 

Not as the flying come. 

In silence and in fear: 
They shook the depths of the desert gloom 

With their hvmns of loftv cheer. 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 127 

Amidst the storm they sang, 
And the stars heard, and the sea ! 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 
To the anthem of the free ! 

The ocean-eagle soared 
From his nest by the white waves' foam, 

And the rocking pines of the forest roared, — 
This was their welcome home! 

There were men with hoary hair 

Amidst that pilgrim band; — 
Why had they come to wither there 

Away from their childhood's land! 

There was woman's fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
There was manhood's brow, serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 

What sought they thus afar? 

Bright jewels of the mine? 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — 

They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 



128 BEDSIDE POETRY. 

Ay, call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod: 
They have left unstained what there they found — 

Freedom to worship God. 

Hemans (The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers). 



H 



80 

"ail to Posterity ! 
Hail, future men of G-ermanopolis ! 
Let the young generations yet to be 
Look kindly upon this. 
Think how your fathers left their native land, — 
Dear G-erman-land, 0! sacred hearths and 

homes ! — 
And, where the wild beast roams, 

In patience planned 
New forest-homes beyond the mighty sea, 

There, undisturbed and free, 
To live as brothers of one family. 
What pains and cares befell, 

What trials and what fears, 
Remember, and wherein we have done well 
Follow our footsteps, men of coming years! 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 129 

Where we have failed to do 
Aright, or wisely live, 
Be warned by us, the better way pursue, 
And, knowing we were human, even as you, 
Pity us and forgive! 
Farewell, Posterity! 
Farewell, dear Germany! 
Forevermore farewell ! 
Pastoritts, translated by Whittier ( Pennsylvania 
Pilgrim J. 



130 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



81 

"Tnr"THERE is the true man's fatherland! 
▼ V Is it where he by chance is born ? 
Doth not the yearning spirit scorn 
In such scant borders to be spanned? 
O yes ! his fatherland must be 
As the blue heaven wide and free ! 

Is it alone where freedom is, 

Where God is God and man is man? 

Doth he not claim a broader span 
For the soul's love of home than this? 
O yes! his fatherland must be 
As the blue heaven wide and free ! 

Where'er a human heart doth wear 
Joy's myrtle-wreath or sorrow's gyves, 
Where'er a human spirit strives 
After a life more true and fair, 
There is the true man's birthplace grand, 
His is a world-wide fatherland ! 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 131 

Where'er a single slave doth pine, 
Where'er one man may help another, — 
Thank God for such a birthright, brother, — 

That spot of earth is thine and mine ! 

There is the true man's birthplace grand, 

His is a world-wide fatherland! 

Lowell (The Fatherland). 



132 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



82 

IN an age of fops and toys, 
Wanting wisdom, void of right, 
Who shall move heroic boys 

To hazard all in Freedom's fight,— 
Break sharply off their jolly games, 

Forsake their comrades gay, 
And quit proud homes and youthful dames 

For famine, toil, and fray! 
Yet on the nimble air benign 

Speed nimbler messages, 
That waft the breath of grace divine 

To hearts in sloth and ease. 
So nigh is grandeur to our dust, 

So near is God to man, 
When Duty whispers low, Thou must, 

The youth replies, I can. 

Emerson (Voluntaries). 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 133 



83 



By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 
Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
And fired the shot heard round the world. 

The foe long since in silence slept; 

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; 
And Time the ruined bridge has swept 

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. 

On this green bank, by this soft stream, 

We set to-day a votive stone, 
That memory may their deed redeem 

When, like our sires, our sons are gone. 

Spirit, that made those heroes dare 
To die, or leave their children free, 

Bid Time and Nature gently spare 
The shaft we raise to them and Thee. 

Rmerson (Concord Monument). 



12 



134 BEDSIDE POETRY. 



84 

" Qj he has gone down ! n They shout it from 

k3 afar, 
Kings, Nobles, Priests — all men, of every race, 
Whose lagging clogs Time's swift relentless pace : 
"She has gone down, our evil-boding star! — 
Rebellion smitten with Rebellion's sword, 
Anarchy done to death by slavery, 
Of Ancient Right insolent enemy — 
Beneath a hideous cloud of civil war, 
Strife such as heathen slaughterers had abhorred. 
The lawless land where no man was called lord, 
Spurning all wholesome curb, and dreaming free 
Her rabble rule's licentious tyranny, 
In the fierce splendor of her arrogant morn, 
She has gone down — the world's eternal scorn ! " 

She has gone down ! Woe for the world and all 
The weary workers gazing from afar 
At the clear rising of that hopeful star — 
Star of redemption to each weeping thrall 
Of Power decrepit, and of rule outworn j 



BEDSIDE POETRY. 135 

Beautiful shining of that blessed morn 
Which was to bring leave for the poor to live, 
To work and rest, to labor and to thrive, 
And righteous room for all who nobly strive. 
She has gone down ! Woe for the panting world 
Back on its path of progress sternly hurled! 
Land of sufficient harvests for all dearth, 
Home of far-seeing hope, Time's latest birth, 
Woe for the promised land of the whole earth ! 

Triumph not, fools, and weep not, ye faint- 
hearted ! 
Have ye believed that the supreme decree 
Of Heaven had given this people o'er to perish? 
Have ye believed that God had ceased to cherish 
This great New World of Christian liberty? 
And its fair light forever had departed? 
Nay — by the precious blood shed to redeem 
The nation from its selfishness and sin, 
By each brave heart that burst in holy strife, 
Leaving its kindred hearts to break through life ; 
By all the bitter tears whose source must stream 
Forever every desolate home within, 
We will return to our appointed place, 
First in the vanguard of the human race. 

Kemble (Sonnets on the American War), 



OMEGA, 

It is time to be old, 

To take in sail : — 

The god of bounds, 

Who sets to seas a shore, 

Came to me in his fatal rounds, 

And said: "No more! 

No farther shoot 

Thy broad ambitions branches, and thy root. 

Fancy departs : no more invent ; 

Contract thy firmament 

To compass of a tent. 

There's not enough for this and that, 

Make thy option which of two ; 

Economize the failing river, 

None the less revere the Giver, 

Leave the many and hold the few, 

Timely wise accept the terms, 

Soften the fall with wary foot ; 

A little while 

Still plan and smile, 

And, — fault of novel germs, — 

Mature the unfallen fruit. 

136 



OMEGA. 137 

Curse, if thou wilt, thy sires, 

Bad husbands of their fires, 

Who, when they gave thee breath, 

Failed to bequeath 

The needful sinew stark as once, 

The Baresark marrow to thy bones, 

But left a legacy of ebbing veins, 

Inconstant heat and nerveless reins, — 

Amid the Muses, left, thee deaf and dumb, 

Amid the gladiators, halt and numb." 

As the bird trims her to the gale, 

I trim myself to the storm of time, 

I man the rudder, reef the sail, 

Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime : 

u Lowly faithful, banish fear, 

Right onward drive unharmed; 

The port, well worth the cruise, is near, 

And every wave is charmed." 

EiiERSO^ (Terminus). 



12* 



GLOSSARY 



OF CERTAIN SCOTTICISMS. 



a>, all. 

aboon, above. 

iirlie, conceited fellow. 

cahl, called. 

coof, ninny. 

fa' t fry- 

gie, give. 
goicd, gold. 

gree, to dear the, to "be victo- 
rious. 



gude, good. 
hamely, homely. 
hodden-gray, coarse woollen 

cloth. 
male, make. 
mauna, must not. 



LIST OF AUTHORS 



WITH THE NUMBERS OP THEIR RESPECTIVE PIECES. 



Barbauld, Anna Lsetitia (1743-1825), English, 48. 

Blake, William (1757-1828), English, 31, 33. 

Burns, Robert (1759-1796), Scotch, 34, 39. 

Campbell, Thomas (1777-1844), Scotch, 4, 11. 

Carlyle, Thomas (1795-1881), Scotch, 35. 

Clough, Arthur Hugh (1819-1861), English, 47, 65, 67, 75, 76, 77. 

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772-1834), English, a, 33, 37, 43, 43, 

64. 
Cowper, William (1731-1800), English, 3, 3, 5, 6, 9, 10. 
Emerson, Ralph Waldo (1803-1882), American, 1, 31, 56, 63, 71, 

73, 74, 83, 83, CI. 
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von (1749-1832), German, 35. 
Gray, Thomas (1716-1771), English, 37. 
Hemans, Felicia Dorothea (1794-1835), English, 79. 
Herbert, George (1593-1632), English, 61, 63. 
Herrick, Robert (1591-1674), English, 45. 
Holmes, Oliver Wendell (born 1809), American, 30, 66. 
Hooper, Ellen Sturgis (1812-1848), American, 51. 
Hunt, Leigh (1784-1859), English, 13, 14, 16. 
Jonson, Ben (1574-1637), English, 44. 
Kemble, Frances Anne (born 1811), English, 84. 
Kingsley, Charles (1819-1875), English, 41. 
Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth (1807-1882), American, 19, 34, 

46, 60. 
Lowell, James Russell (born 1819), American, 13, 39, 36, 40, 53, 

55, 78, 81. 
Marvell, Andrew (1620-1678), English, 54. 
Montgomery, James (1771-1854), Scotch, 33. 
Moss, Thomas (1740-1808), English, 33. 
Pastorius, Franz Daniel (1651-1719), German, 80. 
Rossetti, Dante Gabriel (1828-1882), English, 38. 

139 



140 LIST OF AUTHORS. 

Shakspebe, William (1564-1616), English, 26, 49, 70. 
Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822), English, 17. 
Southey, Robert (1774-1843), English, 18. 
Sprague, Charles (1791-1875), American, 50. 
Tekkysoh, Alfred (born 1809), English, 38, 52, 57, 59, 68. 
Thackeray, William Makepeace (1811-1863), English, 25. 
Whtttter, John Greenleaf (bom 1808), American, 15, 80. 
Wordsworth, William (1770-1850), English, 7, 8, 30, 69, 73. 
Wotton, Henry (1568-1639), English, 58. 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



7 A barking sound the Shepherd hears page 18 

16 Abou Ben Adhem 'may his tribe increase !) 38 

25 Ah ! bleak and barren was the moor 53 

34 Ah : if thy fate, with anguish fraught 63 

% 1 Al&fi ! they had been friends in youth. 55 

6 Androcles from his injured lord, in dread 16 

9 A peasant to his lord paid yearly court 23 

2 A poet's cat. sedate and grave 4 

65 Are there not, then, two musics unto men ! 101 

20 As Life's imending column pours 47 

13 A stranger came one night to Yussouf 'a tent 32 

45 A wearied pilgrim I have wandered here 78 

10 A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest 24 

28 Blow, blow, thou winter wind 54 

63 But if thou do thy best 99 

83 By the rude bridge that arched the flood 133 

21 Can I see another's woe 48 

54 Earth cannot show so brave a sight 88 

32 Every night and every morn 61 

49 Fear no more the heat o' the sun 82 

64 Gently I took that which ungently came 100 

80 Hail to Posterity ! 128 

72 Hast thou named all the birds without a gun ? 113 

58 How happy is he born and taught 92 

43 How seldom. Friend, a good great man inherits 76 

141 



142 INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 

11 I love contemplating — apart page 26 

17 I met a traveller from an antique land 39 

83 In an age of fops and toys 132 

71 In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes 112 

33 I saw a mother and her child 62 

51 I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty 85 

39 Is there, for honest poverty 70 

3 It chanced, then, on a winter's day 9 

47 It fortifies my soul to know 80 

44 It is not growing like a tree 77 

o It is time to be old 136 

18 It was a summer's evening. 40 



13 Jaffar, the Barmecide, the good Vizier. 



8 Lie here, without a record of thy worth 21 

63 Lie not ; hut let thy heart he true to God 99 

48 Life ! I know not what thou art 81 

46 Life is real! Life is earnest ! 79 

53 Life may he given in many ways 87 

31 Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown 59 

14 Lokman the Wise, therefore the Good (for wise 34 

36 Looking within myself, I note how thin 67 

55 Men ! whose boast it is that ye 88 

41 My fairest child, I have no song to give you 74 

73 My heart leaps up when I behold 114 

A O'er wayward childhood wouldst thou hold firm rule 2 

39 O Truth ! O Freedom ! how are ye still born 57 

57 O well for him whose will is strong 91 

34 Oh ye ! who, sunk in beds of down 52 

37 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 68 

33 Pity the sorrows of a poor old man 49 

68 Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky 107 

60 Saint Augustine ! well hast thou said 95 

15 Saint Patrick, slave to Milcho of the herds 36 

76 Say not, the struggle naught availeth 117 

84 She has gone down ! They shout it from afar 134 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 143 

30 Small service is true service while it lasts page 58 

23 Sweet Mercy ! how my very heart has bled 51 

79 The breaking waves dashed high 126 

4 The deep affections of the breast 12 

35 The future hides in it , 65 

5 The greenhouse is my summer seat 14 

l The mountain and the squirrel. 3 

40 The rich man's son inherits lands 72 

28 These little nrs to-day axe things. 56 

56 The timid it concerns to ash: their way 90 

19 This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling U 

66 This is the ship of pearl which, poets feign 103 

74 Thou canst not wave thy staff in air Hi 

67 'Tis common sense, and human wit 105 

38 Trust me, Clara Tere de Vere 69 

59 Turn. Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud 94 

70 Under the greenwood tree Ill 

69 Up ! up ! my Friend, and quit your boots 109 

50 w- e are all here 83 

7 7 What voice did on my spirit fall 118 

78 When a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad 

earth's aching breast 122 

75 When the enemy is near thee 115 

42 Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn i 75 

81 Where is the true man's fatherland ? 130 

61 Who is the honest man ? 97 

52 Yea, let all good things await 86 



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